The Doppelgänger 'Verse
by kamikumai
Summary: Part I: Lost and alone, now that Sam’s left for college, Dean does what he can to make up for the gaping wound where his heart used to be. Part II: Dean's home. Only, that can't be. Because... Dean's dead. Warning: Wincest, slash, RPs. And kinda AU?
1. Chapter 1

**Word from the Author: **Lost and alone, now that Sam's left for college, Dean does what he can to make up for the gaping wound where his heart used to be.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural, the concepts or the characters. Or, for that matter, Jared Padalecki or Jensen Ackles. Especially with the whole abolishment of slavery thing we've got going…

* * *

**Part I**

_Absence Makes_

* * *

_Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder had seriously fucked things up_, Dean thought morosely, as he contemplated the miles that now stretched long and far between him and his brother.

As far as Dean was concerned his heart wasn't any fonder than it had ever been given these first few months since Sam had decided that he was really, truly, honest to God, leaving. If anything, Dean's heart was feeling a little desperate.

Maybe that's what drove him to this place. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a cheap, run-of-the-mill bar, which most of the time would've held a certain appeal to Dean anyway. In those kinds of dumps people didn't usually take note of you as closely as they did in the 'upper-class' places, and for almost as long as he could remember anonymity had been a close friend of his.

It was anonymity along with a good helping of that same desperation that had brought him here tonight.

The purr of the Impala was as soothing as ever, as he pulled up into a free parking space a little off from the entrance way. He needed to keep her a safe distance from it, just in case any brawling should ensue. He'd discovered something of a trend for that happening around the doors of places – something about taking up as much space, and being as great an encumbrance as was possible.

Twirling his baby's keys on one finger, Dean nonchalantly headed inside. The acrid smell of smoke, alcohol and old sweat hit him as soon as he opened the door; he could feel the base of music just a notch too loud to be properly heard thrum through him as he walked deeper and deeper into its midst.

He didn't come here often, only when he felt the need. And he'd felt it particularly strongly after his latest brush with death.

See, the thing is, normally, or rather as normal as they'd been back when Sam had accepted their family as it was, all Dean would have needed was Sam's quiet presence, the rhythmic sound of his breathing, the heat he seemed to radiate from even feet away. And it's not like Dean ever went further than that.

Basically, this absence thing? Really wasn't doing Dean any favours.

All those things had become staples for him, the things that kept him going, the things that told him Sam was alive, and safe, and okay. But most of all, that he was there with Dean, by his side, where he was meant to be.

Dean couldn't help but wonder whether he hadn't properly appreciated all these little things. Because sure, he'd whined and bitched about a lot of them, countless of times, but that never meant he'd ever wanted any of it to just _go away_.

Pausing as he surveyed the scene before him, Dean pondered that maybe that's what the whole absence thing was about. Not fondness, per se, but epiphany.

_You don't know what you got 'til it's gone._

And all that sort of sentiment they sing about in songs.

Still, there was hardly anything Dean could do to change the fact that Sam wasn't here anymore. That Sam had made his choice – _to not stay by Dean's side_.

Which brought him back to reality; this bar was one Dean had happened upon purely by chance. It was pretty isolated. One might even say for good reason. For one, it tended to cater to slightly eclectic tastes.

Now, it wasn't so much eclectic that Dean was seeking. No, it was something entirely different. Someone, in fact. Because what he'd found here that first time, had become scarily addictive. Almost to the same extent that Dean was addicted to Sam, himself. Only, Sam, Dean knew, he couldn't have. Whereas this stranger, with his uncanny resemblance to his brother, let Dean have all he wanted.

It was sick, it was wrong. Dean knew. But what addiction wasn't? There were worse paths Dean could have taken. At least this way, no one was getting hurt. Unless Dean asked for it, that is.

"Jared," Dean murmured as he came up behind the man.

"Dean," he replied, just as softly.

Dean was happy to note that Jared looked pleased to see him. Bolstered by the smooth smile, Jared sent his way, Dean slid into the seat next to him, offering to buy him a drink.

Jared languidly nodded his agreement; after all, Dean already knew what he liked.

They drank in silence for some time. It was comfortable even though, Dean thought, it really shouldn't have been.

The simple fact that it was, though? Was probably a bad sign, one that seemed to indicate that Dean was already getting too used to this. To them. To what they were going to do.

It seemed as though the time for pleasantries had passed. Their drinks together had become something of a ritual before they got down to the main course, and dessert, of course.

"Ready?" Jared asked, his tone muted under the heavy, chaotic sounds of the bar.

"Yeah," Dean breathed, already more than. Standing quickly, Dean headed out first, the feel of Jared's intense gaze burning along his back reassurance enough that Jared was right behind him.

The chilled night breeze kissed his skin as he shoved his way outside, while a slight shiver traversed his skin, raising goose-bumps and prickling the hair at the nape of his neck in response to the change in temperature. The muggy, humidity of the bar's interior seemed mildly oppressive in comparison, and he was glad to escape it, if only so he could breathe.

He headed straight to the pickup that was Jared's pride and joy. Personally, Dean thought it had nothing on his own baby, but he wasn't about to voice that thought aloud – not if he wanted any. And want he did.

Jared silently unlocked his truck, chucking Dean the keys to do the same on his side, this too having become custom.

It took about ten minutes to get to the motel that had become habit for them to frequent. It was cheap, but serviceable. Then again, Dean's only interest was in getting Jared naked and in him as fast as was humanly possible.

Jared took care of everything at the counter, while Dean shifted anxiously from foot to foot. He wanted Jared's big, strong, warm hands all over him, hands also oddly reminiscent of his brother's. Hands so similar that if he didn't look too closely at the lack of scars, and the much tidier nails, he could easily pretend they were the hands he really wanted, hands that would never touch him no matter how he longed to be touched.

Heading to the room, always the same room if it was available, their roles were reversed; Dean stalking sedately behind and a pace to left from Jared, his lowered eyes covertly burning their own trails along Jared's admittedly impressive form.

It wasn't so much that Dean was truly submissive. It was more that, sometimes, what he needed was to be able to hand over control, to let someone else drive. And if Dean had a deep, dark secret, it would be that the one Dean wanted more than anything to give himself up to was his baby brother, who in the last few years had grown so tall that he appeared to tower over Dean's smaller stature, his baby brother who had rapidly lost baby fat, gaining solid, dense muscle mass in its place.

But just as the changes had started to come, just as Dean had begun to see an edge in the way Sam looked at him, smiled at him, sometimes with a touch of wildness that made him seem even larger than life, just as all these signs that Sam just might become all that Dean desired him to be presented themselves, they came to a shuddering halt. As if Dean were cursed with misfortune, the transformation never came to pass.

Balancing on the precipice, Sam had looked into the abyss and had simply turned heel and left. Leaving Dean floating in darkness, alone, stranded, and unfulfilled. With nothing but the vestiges of what could have been. If Sammy hadn't been such a damned _coward_.

Dean paused at the thought. That wasn't fair. Dean couldn't, shouldn't have expected more from Sam. After all, what Sammy wanted most of all was _normality_. Something Dean had next to no conception of. To Dean's mind, normality was overrated. In fact, to some extent, normality, Dean found, was often the face of evil.

Dean thought it a little sad that Sammy himself hadn't yet come to realize this, and that he too wished to change what he was not, for his own gains, by wearing a mask made to deceive. Dean was sure his brother's intentions were pure, but as they say, the path to hell is with good intentions paved.

Thoughts of Sammy swirled endlessly through Dean's mind as Jared opened the door for them. Closing it behind himself, Dean began to strip, quickly and efficiently.

Licking his lips in anticipation, Dean watched carefully as Jared slid his jacket and shirt off.

Because _fuck_, if he wasn't built just the same as Sammy.

With reverence in his fingers, and awe in his eyes, Dean approached the skin now bared to him. Rubbing tenderly at the smooth, silky warmth, Dean eventually couldn't resist its call for him to lean forward to taste it. Willingly, he went, before dropping to his knees to further follow the path of heat laid out so alluringly before him.

If there was one thing Dean regretted about these trysts, it was that, even though Jared was close enough to the real thing to sometimes deceive Dean's eyes, he didn't _smell_ like Sammy. There was no musky smell of old books, or any hint of gun powder, or even the scent of the cheap, generic shampoos Sam seemed to prefer to use.

There was a likeness, certainly, but when Dean closed his eyes, it just wasn't enough. It was no longer Sam here with him, but a stranger in Sam's body. Or at least, that's how it seemed to Dean.

That's why Dean always kept his eyes open.

It was strange that that was the only way he could pretend that this was real, that this was more than its truth, more than make-believe. When Dean lived for each second, that was when it was easiest to fool himself, fool his body into accepting this when really, the only thing Dean wanted to let inside was _Sammy_. Turning each moment into a selection of stills, he found he didn't critique them as closely as he did when they stood as a whole in his mind.

Dean wasn't sure whether it was better or worse that he had nothing to compare them to.

Fingers nimble and sure, Dean eagerly unbuttoned Jared's jeans, not once glancing away from Jared's face as he did so.

_Sam's face_, Dean thought sadly, _with a stranger's expression_.

Despite the sometimes grating falsity, Dean couldn't help but drink up every sight and sound, hoarding each and every one. He'd survived on rations before, he could do so again.

In fact, people often bought prints, when they couldn't have the original, when the true masterpiece was just too far out of their reach. Sometimes it amazed Dean at how much like _normal_ people he could sometimes be.

Then again, thinking about it rationally, Dean supposed that people didn't usually think of their younger siblings as masterpieces they couldn't afford, couldn't ever quite touch, not as they would if they _owned _them. Nor did people usually take someone who bore a striking resemblance to said masterpiece in their place.

So, in actual fact, Dean probably wasn't quite as normal as he might sometimes fear.

The slightly bitter taste of cock in his mouth was, undoubtedly, one such indication.

Curling his hands gently against powerful hips, _all the better to fuck you with_, Dean opened his mouth wide, swallowing as much as he could take. Before trying to take more still. He would've choked himself on it, if he could. He didn't think Jared would've appreciated that much though. Instead, he made do, as he was already so used to doing, with the scraps he was given.

His own cock was almost painfully hard, and dripping slightly, but Dean made no move to take it, simply moaned at the feeling of fullness, of heat and flesh against his tongue, the glorious ache of his jaw already setting in.

Ignoring his own arousal for the moment, vicariously enjoying Jared's in its place, Dean squeezed his hands in encouragement, giving tacit consent for Jared to thrust, as deep as he could.

_So deep_, Dean wished,_ that I'll taste it for days to come_.

Jared didn't hesitate, hands lingering at Dean's temples. Calmly caressing, Jared thrust hard. Again, and again, and again, and again, steadily, continuously, never once breaking pace.

Dean just tried to keep breathing, all the way gazing up wondrously at the sight before him.

_Sam_, Dean whimpered around Jared's cock, vibrations echoing sharply along sensitive flesh.

It was odd to think that that name was the one that drove Jared to completion. It was ironic, in some ways, if not just a little poetic.

Dean swallowed convulsively, all the while trying to savour the taste, if only because in this, there was little more than Dean could do, other than speculate how close the flavour had bred true.

_Rations_, Dean thought. _Imitations. Simulations. Nothing more._

It didn't stop Dean from rising from his knees, from kissing Jared long and deep and dirty, with his eyes wide open, and Jared's fluttering closed.

Breaking the kiss, Dean whispered, his head slightly bowed, "Need you in me."

Dean watched through lowered lashes as lust flared in those ridiculously green, _oh god, Sammy_, eyes.

"Lie down," he was instructed, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Not that Dean would've argued, not about something like that anyway. And so, obediently, Dean moved to the bed, lying on his back, and shamelessly spreading his legs wide. Almost immediately, Dean felt those giant hands on his calves folding him practically in half.

"Hold yourself for me," Jared ordered, his voice a deep rumble, and Dean's hands rose on command, gripping his own legs, so that he was completely exposed.

"Don't come."

Dean nodded his understanding. It had happened the first time, and every other time that Jared didn't tell him not to, as soon as those big, gorgeous fingers were up Dean's ass, he was _gone_.

The imperative, though, once pronounced, seemed to stick. And somehow Dean managed to ride it out, at least until there was something far bigger and better for him to ride in its stead.

Gasping, Dean quivered as he was breached, clenching hard at the intrusion automatically.

"_Hush,_" Jared murmured, and Dean did, relaxing at the warmth, the desire in the sound. Stroking unhurriedly, Jared added more lube, before entering with a second finger, and scissoring expertly, all the while deliberately avoiding Dean's prostate.

Jared had made it something of a tradition, not to touch that spot except with his cock.

_It's a special button that needs to be pushed in a special way_, Jared had once smirked to him. Dean had simply laughed, not complaining in the least.

With the entrance of a third finger, Dean's breath hitched, and he found himself panting, begging as he wreathed helplessly, not once letting go of his legs, but still bucking up against those three fingers that were now a burning firestorm of promise inside him.

"Please?" Dean asked around a moan, his eyes shining with a myriad of emotions. Most of which were directed inward, to thoughts of Sam, of Sam here, Sam doing this, _Sam_'s fingers inside him, Sam's _cock_ to come. All Dean's thoughts were of Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, _Sam!_

"_Please!_"

As Dean's voice broke on the word, the fingers withdrew, leaving him achingly empty, but also ready to be filled. With little more than a jagged shove, Jared pushed inside, Dean drawing him in. Legs now bent over broad shoulders, Dean's free hands wandered raggedly over Jared's face, gliding along his cheeks over his lips, into his hair, as Dean stared, his heart bursting, desperate for more.

Roughly Dean tugged Jared forward, lips and teeth and tongue begging to be consumed, all the while seeing nothing but _Sam_.

As Jared kissed him hard and hungry, viciously, deliciously, pounding into his waiting and willing body, Dean strained to keep his eyes open, to make this fantasy last.

It didn't, however. Not for that much longer.

Dean knew that what he was doing here was reckless, and stupid. But Dean was sometimes like that. And if this was the closest thing to having _Sam_ inside him, to having some of Sam _left_ inside him, Dean was going to take it, even if it killed him.

His mind filled with such thoughts, Dean screamed his rage at being denied the real thing, screamed wordlessly at Sam for not wanting him, for not loving him the way Dean loved Sammy. Screamed his release.

His heart howled its anguish in the form of the name imprinted deep within its folds. It howled its pain and fury, in complete disaccord with singing pleasure of his flesh.

As his orgasm ripped through him, Dean felt Jared come inside him.

It was the only real warmth in the moment where there was no love lost between them.

And it wasn't the first time that Dean wondered how long he could keep doing this, as the fantasy swiftly, surely, dissolved in his grasp…

… making the absence of the real thing heartbreakingly poignant.

†

Sam woke up breathing hard, eyes wide, sweat drenched, his erection harder still.

He had no idea where these dreams came from, dreams of his brother, of all people. And himself, only… it wasn't really him. But still, his brother had called for _him_; had called him by name, while with a stranger that looked just like him.

He'd thought he'd be able to escape if he just went far enough away. But wherever he went, his brother's shadow was sure to follow, haunting him, fucking _taunting_ him, in ways that Sam knew he shouldn't have been tempted, but which indeed he was. He was tormented now in ways that felt as if he were slowly, but surely, being driven insane.

Sitting up, elbows rested upon bent knees, hands pressed firmly against eyes squeezed shut, Sam wondered why the distance hadn't changed anything.

_It wasn't fair_.

†

To Be Continued.

* * *

**Another Word from the Author: **I'll have Part II up soon! Keep an eye out for it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Word from the Author: **Dean's home. Only, that can't be. Because... Dean's dead.

**Disclaimer: **As I said in Part I.

* * *

**Part II**

_Look At Me With Kind Eyes_

* * *

"Sammy…"

Sam jolted awake at the sound of his own name.

"Dean?" Sam mumbled into the darkness of the motel room, completely forgetting that that wasn't possible. "Wha—?"

"Shh. It's okay," answered a voice with Dean's tones and Dean's accent, but there was something slightly off about the sound, like a string instrument too tightly tuned.

Grunting, Sam rolled over to look at the bed beside him, only to find no such thing. Jerking upright, Sam blinked, then shivered. The temperature in his single had dropped during the darkest hours of night. Then again, that was probably only part of the reason for the chill.

Still in a slight daze, Sam glared at the empty room where there was no other bed, not since…

Hearing the rustling of fabric, Sam realized that he hadn't imagined hearing those words in that voice. Shocked, he blurted, "You _died_!" even as he braced himself upright, now fully awake.

"Well, thanks for rubbing it in, Sammy," Dean was saying in that way of his that was unmistakable, "it's nice to see you, too."

Sam swallowed hard.

_He had to be dreaming this. There was no way._

"But. What—? _How_—?"

"I broke my way out," came the smug reply.

_Only Dean_, Sam thought with a surge of nostalgic affection. But even so, "What are you talking about, Dean? There's no way you could have…" and there were no words for it, he couldn't find it in himself to speak of that place, to speak the name of what was meant to have been his brother's eternal prison.

"No way could I have… what?" Dean asked mildly, before stalking away from where he'd stood leaning against the door frame, a nonchalant slouch lazily curling his posture, making him seem shorter than he was. Or maybe that was because he _was_ shorter.

"_Fuck,_" Sam swore as Dean took another step towards him, silent as a lamb, though a lamb he was not.

Dean merely stared straight back at him from where he now stood, no longer cloaked in shadow, but bathed in moonlight cascading in through only half-closed blinds, _wearing a stranger's face_.

"Dean…" Sam whispered, pained, a touch of panic creeping into his voice.

_Your brother, the wolf, returns to his pack._

"Sam." This time there was no intonation to the word, none of the warmth that would otherwise fill it.

Sam grimaced, slumping forward slightly as he did so, as if weighed down by some unbearable burden. Taking in the sight before him, Sam hissed in disbelief, "You _possessed _someone?"

"Look, Sammy," Dean implored, spreading the arms of his new form wide, and moving closer still, "it's not like I'm hurting him."

"_Dean!_" Sam protested, horrified.

"Sammy," more of the warmth had crept back, transforming cold, harsh sounds once more into those of his brother's beautifully lilting voice. "Calm down. I'm not hurting him. In fact, I even asked his permission before I hitched a ride."

Sam gaped at this a second before demanding, "And what? He just _agreed_?"

The face that was now his brother's smiled sadly at him, "Yeah. See, the thing is, he doesn't really have anything left to live for. Not anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam exclaimed, hoping Dean wasn't saying that _he_…

"It means," Dean clarified, "that just after the gate opened, one of those nasty bastards made its way into his best friend. Killed him slow and painful from the inside out. Made the guy do horrible, horrible things. And forced my man here to watch. But, you know what the funny thing is?"

Sam shook his head, mute. He was entirely sure whatever Dean said next was _not_ going to make Sam laugh.

"When I saved him, I got a look at what was left of his friend. It was weird; there was something familiar about the guy. Then I realized he kind of looked like _you_. So, when I showed him your pic, and told him that I needed to find you again, he was happy to help. Was surprised himself at the resemblance." Dean smiled a wide lecherous smile that was entirely his own expression, before adding, "and lucky for me, he'd been harbouring some sin."

"Sin?" Sam echoed. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Dean kept smiling. "Oh, well, they're just easier to possess when they do."

"What?" Sam gasped.

"Oh, come on, Sammy," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Please tell me that big brain of yours is still ticking. Sin, it makes humans vulnerable to all sorts of evil, possession in particular."

Sam eyed the body Dean was wearing, wondering how exactly it had sinned. Sam felt his eyebrows rise when Dean immediately answered his question.

"Hey, it was nothing _too_ bad, yeah," Dean gladly assured him, "just a bit of a cocktail of lust, forbidden love, sodomy, you know? That kind of thing. A bit fonder of his boy than he was letting on, if you know what I mean," Dean waggled the guy's eyes brows at Sam.

Sam thought about this for a moment, before saying, "So?"

"So," Dean murmured with a strange half-smile, "he just wanted to see if you were real."

"He's seen," Sam said shortly, not entirely sure where this was going.

"Come now, Sammy," Dean cajoled, his voice gentling further, "play nice, we've come a long way to see you."

Sam watched with wide eyes as Dean chose this moment to stalk closer to the bed, letting his jacket slip from his fingers and onto the floor as he did so.

"We just want to see you," Dean begged, drawing closer still, before finally crawling on top of him.

Frozen in place, Sam stared, open-mouthed, as Dean crowded his personal space, draping himself over Sam's body, wrapping his arms tightly around Sam's neck and wriggling to get as close as he possibly could.

"I missed you," he told Sam's neck.

"I missed you, too," Sam replied without thought, because it was true. Reflexively, his arms reached round and held Dean close. The feel of real warmth,_ human_ warmth, when he had gone so long without, helped to thaw the chill he hadn't even realized was there, always there, just beneath the surface, and dipping deeper towards his core. He had tried to ignore just how cold the world seemed without Dean in it. Now, however, there was no denying it.

"Sammy," Dean breathed softly, the name no more than a whimper, before the reached out with his tongue to tentatively lick at the pulse beating right by him, the beat of it so full of life he wanted to cry.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of moist heat gliding against his exposed skin.

"Dean," Sam moaned. "What are you—?"

"Don't you want me to stay?" Dean pleaded, shifting now so that his erection blatantly was digging into Sam's hip.

"Dea—!" Sam started to say, but the rest was swallowed by the kiss that followed.

Sam gasped into the sweet, open mouth that was at once his brother's and not. As he moved to pull away, Dean quickly threaded his fingers through Sam's hair, holding him still and seeking him out once more, kissing him soft and deep and hungry.

"Sammy," Dean whined. "Please, I need…" trailing off, Dean rubbed himself against Sam's own hardening length, a tacit explanation, wordlessly given and understood.

"We shouldn't," Sam protested, half-heartedly. _They had never… all the while, not once had they…_

"We're not," Dean argued with a convincing lash of his tongue.

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

"_We're_ not," Dean said once more.

Huffing a laugh as he got what Dean meant, Sam defiantly replied, "We so are."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean demanded, before licking at Sam's lower lip. "What's it matter anyway? We both know where we're going when everything is said and done. So I say, why the hell not!" Dean reasoned, with his usual impeccable logic.

Sam took Dean by the shoulders as his brother moved in for another kiss.

"Sammy," Dean pouted, leaning forward to test the strength of Sam's hold.

Sam simply tightened his grip, before taking a moment to stare into Dean's eyes, searching, for what, he wasn't sure.

Dean seemed to realize that Sam wanted something, needed something first, so he let the pout go, and stopped straining against Sam's hold, allowing his expression to turn serious instead.

"Dean?" Sam eventually whispered.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I love you," Sam said, wanting _that_ more than anything.

Dean smiled, slowly at first, before it broke like dawn across his face, brightening his expression, making his eyes _shine_. "I love you, too, Samm—"

This time, it was Sam's turn to consume the sound of his own name upon his brother, no, his _lover_'s tongue. Drinking in the pleasure of it, Sam pulled them down until they lay side by side, just kissing, and then touching, in gentle, sweeping caresses, more reassurance than decadent indulgence.

Inevitably, the need for reassurance passed, even as the need for affirmation grew, and their kisses deepened while their touches drew closer to intimate places.

Breathing hard, in between kisses, Sam rolled them, forcing Dean's hands down by his head as he did so.

"_Fuck me_," Dean demanded in response to Sam's dominating actions, his voice tight as he bucked up from where he lay pinned by Sam's solid weight, and his strong, warm hands.

"Patience," Sam said around a smile.

"Don't need virtue!" Dean retorted instantly. Nipping at Sam's throat, he added, "though if I have any, you're more than welcome to it."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem," Sam smirked, "not once I'm done with you."

It was amazing how much more confident Sam felt knowing now where he stood, and that this was what Dean wanted. A lot, if what Sam was feeling being thrust up against him was any indication.

With a snarl, Sam single-handedly slammed Dean's hips back down against the mattress, some part of him demanding that Dean should have _obeyed_ him when he had first requested _patience_.

"_Stop_," Sam commanded, his voice echoing sharply.

Beneath him, Dean instantly froze, before immediately letting himself relax completely, a moan breaking free as he did so.

_This_ was what he wanted.

"Dean?" Sam questioned wondering how exactly he had provoked this reaction from his brother and utterly unaware of how he'd sounded seconds before.

"Fuck me," Dean reiterated simply, blinking lazily up at Sam, his movements now completely languid as he idly stroked fingers along the beautifully moulded arms braced on either side of him.

Pulling away from the wandering fingers, Sam sat back on his heels, to take in the sight of his brother, who simply watched him in return, letting those wandering fingers run over his own chest and arms, instead of Sam's.

"I think you need to be naked," Sam stated, his eyes darkening at the thought.

"Strip me, then," Dean suggested. "I know you can do it."

"Of course I can do it," Sam replied, frowning, as he moved to pull at the edge of Dean's shirt.

One of Dean's hands shot out to stop him. "I didn't mean like that," Dean said.

"_Oh?_" Sam hummed, surprised.

"I meant," Dean purred, his eyes hooding slightly as he gazed up at Sam hovering over him, "with your mind."

Sam simply growled once, before shredding Dean's shirt with a thought.

Dean grinned broadly, his eyes filled with pleasure, as he shrugged out of the tatters, praising, "That's my boy," in a hungry rumble.

Sam smiled smugly in return, quickly pulling his own shirt up and over his head, barely sparring a thought to his effortless use of power. All he needed to know was that it got him what he wanted. And what he wanted was Dean.

His smile turning slightly feral, Sam sliced his way down one leg of Dean's jeans, watching with great interest as the finely haired skin of Dean's thigh was exposed to him. Arching a brow, Sam recaptured Dean's wrists, pressing his fingers in hard, just before slashing his way across the crotch of Dean's jeans, leaving Dean bare to Sam's consuming eyes.

Licking his lips, Sam pressed this time, wrapped his mind around the cock before him, which too was at once his brother's but not. In all honesty, Sam didn't particularly care. All that mattered was that it was Dean in the body beneath him, that it was Dean's most naked, most vulnerable reactions that he was about to be privy to.

Sam supposed they were both fortunate that Dean had found a body so like his own, in build, colouring and features.

Sam, for sure, was pleased, and with a gentle flick of his mind, Dean was likewise moaning his pleasure for all to hear. Or not.

_Oh, yes._ Like that, _god_, Sammy, _in me_,_ in me_, _in me!_

It was pretty cool to be able to get all of that, without Dean ever speaking a word.

Lost in the moment, it didn't really occur to Sam that this was abnormal, even for him. His control of his powers was shaky at best, and yet here he was exercising them with precision handling.

When he thought about it later, he would no doubt conclude that with the right incentive, a guy could achieve amazing things.

And there was no better incentive than Dean's desperate pleas for more, harder, faster, _damn it_, in Sam's humble opinion.

Feeling slightly impatient, Sam forced the material still covering Dean to dissolve, melting from his skin, and running off the bed to pool on the floor. Unthinkingly, Sam substituted hands for mind, replacing his physical grasp on Dean's wrists with psychic threads, binding him easily to the bed posts.

With his hands free, Sam lifted Dean's legs, sliding his palms down his thighs, until he could hook his fingers under Dean's knees for leverage. Dean happily complied with Sam's demanding touches, bringing his knees up towards his chest.

Shifting in so that his own knees were nicely bracketing Dean's torso, and the small of Dean's back was resting comfortably against his chest, Sam slowly laced more psychic threads about the already steady mental hold Sam had on Dean's erection, before letting each thread come to life to dance to its own tune across sensitive flesh.

Dean was gasping, breathless at the onslaught.

"_Fuck_," he cried, as one of the threads slithered threateningly along his slit, dipping in slightly, before moving on.

A few other adventurous strands of psychic energy wandered upwards to curl around Dean's scrotum, teasing at his perineum, and some even going so far as to push against his entrance.

Sam looked on intently, concentrating on getting to know this body, through all the senses available to him, starting with sight and touch, physical and mental, before swiftly moving on to taste.

Leaning forward, Sam tenderly caressed Dean's cheeks for a moment, as much to tease as to comfort, until Dean was whimpering and bucking up into the touch, silently begging. Giving in, Sam spread Dean open.

Dean stared, eyes wide, not once breaking his gaze, as Sam bent just so, firmly licking at the exposed flesh. At that first touch, Dean's eyes fluttered closed, his lips parting around a heady moan. With broad strokes, Sam laved the area, ignoring Dean's cussing and focusing instead on acquainting himself with both the taste and texture of Dean.

Humming his satisfaction, Sam sharpened his tongue to reach deeper, to penetrate further. The feel of his own psychic threads against his tongue as he repeatedly plunged the muscle in and out of Dean was interesting to say the least.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean's ass, as he called his mind to do the same wherever it was touching.

The result was instantaneous. With a strangled wail, Dean was coming, thrashing about wildly as his orgasm tore through him.

With one last thrust, and spasm of internal muscles about his tongue, Sam withdrew, releasing his hold on Dean's butt, easing Dean's knees over his shoulders instead.

"Sammy," Dean whined, tugging restlessly at invisible binds, as he obviously tried to move to touch Sam in return.

"Dean," Sam husked. "Be still. I want to taste you first."

"I'd say you've had a damn good taste, already," Dean muttered, breathlessly.

Sam reached one hand around the Dean's leg, to run his fingers through Dean's come, scooping a little up on his fingertips.

"Haven't had any of this yet, though," Sam explained, as he sucked his fingers into his mouth to taste. Once he had removed all traces of Dean, he scooped up a little more.

"How much of that stuff are you planning to eat, exactly?" Dean asked, frowning slightly.

"Oh, this isn't for me," Sam smiled, just as he slipped two come-slicked fingers into Dean.

Dean yelped, "_Sammy!_" Before glaring, as Sam's fingers quickly slid deep.

"What?" Sam asked, schooling his features into a glibly innocent expression.

Dean just snorted, a sound which quickly morphed into a groan as Sam shifted and twisted his fingers, feeling for the nub of nerves that would from now on be his happy place. He knew the moment he found it, as Dean's hips jerked automatically in response to the sudden rush of pleasure, while Dean himself whimpered exquisitely.

Sam decided not to bother with a third, Dean was already fairly well-stretched from having had Sam's tongue up his ass, that and he wanted Dean to remember this first time. In fact, Sam wanted Dean to _feel_ it for days to come.

Of course, he first asked Dean whether it was okay by him, steadily pumping his fingers in and out as he did so. "Are you ready for me? To be in you? Or do you want me to prepare you more?"

"Just…" Dean swallowed, muscles twitching randomly along his form, his shoulder one second, his calf the next.

"Just what?" Sam enquired, patiently, curiously.

"Let my arms go? I want to hold you, you know…" Dean coughed softly, as if embarrassed, "during…"

Sam blinked. He'd forgotten Dean was still tied up. Immediately he released the hold.

Dean flexed his fingers for a second, before nodding, "Want you in me, _now_, Sammy."

Sam smiled his approval, removing his fingers and forcing his own jeans and boxers to melt from himself the way he'd made Dean's. Sucking in a sharp breath as the slightly cooler air of the room hit his heated length, Sam lined himself up, shivering at the feel of Dean's bare skin against his own.

As he started to push in, Dean wrenched himself upward to pull Sam into a sloppy, heartfelt kiss, one that was filled with more passion than skill. Melding their mouths together, each of them twining fingers into the other's hair, they breathed one another in, as all the while, agonizingly slowly, inch by inch, Sam fell deeper, and deeper still, into Dean, until he was sheathed to the hilt.

Breaking the kiss, Sam heaved in a shuddering breath, before whispering, "_God,_ I love you."

Dean bit his lip, before releasing it to vow, "Love you, too. More than _anything_."

And at that Sam started thrusting, long and slow and full of promise. Enjoying the tightness, the feeling of coming home. The whispery exhalations of Dean's breathe causing wisps of Sam's hair to tickle at his own ear somehow struck him as being inexplicably remarkable. All at once, there were just too many things, too many sensations, that he so wanted to bask in, to let take him over, to be consumed by.

It got harder by the minute to pay attention to anything other than the feel of Dean clamped about him so tightly, practically squeezing the life out of him, as it were.

"_Dean_," Sam said, over and over again, a litany of exaltation, words of highest praise, in perfect harmony with Dean's own chorus of, "_Sammy, Sammy, Sammy_."

Feeling himself rising to the precipice of release, Sam changed the pace, going faster now, driving home harder, urging with action as well as words for Dean to join him, actively encouraging Dean to fall first.

And as always, Sammy's wish was Dean's command.

Sam tilted his head, just enough to capture once more Dean's lips, just as Dean's neck snapped back, going taut as he climaxed, the only sound a burst of white static in Sam's mind; the only sensation that of Dean clenched about him momentarily, before the flesh he was encased in began to throb fiercely around him, wringing each gasp from him until finally he too exploded, rendered incoherent by the sheer magnitude of the rush flowing through him.

Sated, Sam collapsed atop Dean, whose only protest was a quiet _oomph_ at the impact. Nuzzling at Dean's sweat-damp shoulder, Sam shifted them slightly so that he wasn't completely squishing his brother. Yawning, Sam gave Dean one final lick, his neck this time, before wrapping his arms tight about his brother. Sam sleepily noted the feel of Dean's smile pressed against his skin and similarly smiled his contentment.

Being together like this wasn't something either of them had ever thought they would have, no matter how much they had both wanted it. The problem was neither had been ready to give in to it, to be more than they were. It had taken them becoming less, _nothing_, both of them lost without the other, to find reason to take whatever they could now.

Tangling themselves together, they held on, letting sleep claim them.

Because now?

Now, they had time.

†

"_Jared_," Jensen sighed, eyes fluttering open as within his mind Dean drifted off. With a wistful smile, Jensen carefully ran his fingertips along the cheek of the gorgeous man lying beside him, whose features were just so damn similar to his Jared's.

_Not the same_, he thought mournfully, but then again nothing ever would be. He had nothing without Jared, who had been both his best friend and his unrequited love.

And yet, he'd found something to live for, in this, even if he had to do so vicariously. In some ways it hurt beyond belief, practically tore him to pieces, to merely look upon this man called Sam, but in others, it was all that was keeping him from falling apart.

Plus, Jensen wanted to do this for Dean, who had not only saved his life, but who had set Jared free.

Dean was a good man, Jensen knew him as well now as he knew himself.

Dean didn't deserve what had been done to him.

Kissing this man Dean loved, and for whom he himself was starting to fall, Jensen closed his eyes, and hoped to dream dreams as sweet as the lips he savoured.

†

Finis.

†

* * *

**Another Word from the Author: **And, well. There you have it. XD Let me know what you thunk, hoi?


End file.
